


"a thing greater than all the magic and all the treasures in all the world"

by jukebox_writer



Category: Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game)
Genre: Confessions, Emotional Constipation, M/M, Unresolved Emotional Tension, but it's not a very straightforward confession, yuu is nonbinary here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26236747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jukebox_writer/pseuds/jukebox_writer
Summary: "You're skillful. Of course you have it figured out." Azul's voice breaks him out of his reverie. "Or am I wrong?""It's just blind luck," Jamil lies automatically, the words leaving his mouth smoothly like nothing's changed at all. Except, everything has.Azul's expression darkens at the response. "You don't have to do that anymore, remember?"
Relationships: Azul Ashengrotto/Jamil Viper
Comments: 17
Kudos: 112





	"a thing greater than all the magic and all the treasures in all the world"

**Author's Note:**

> title is a quote from Disney's aladdin

"You're stirring yours in a different direction," Azul notices, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Am I?" Jamil answers calmly, not looking away from his steaming kettle; he's stirring the mixture in slow, circular motions, close to the brim and always to the right. The substance is perfectly clear and gleaming in all colors of the rainbow under the light: exactly how it's supposed to look like, in opposition to the dark and muddy jelly the rest of the class ended up with.

Azul brings a hand to his chin in deep thought and watches Jamil's moves patiently, his own assignment long forgotten. 

"And how might the direction of stirring influence the end result _that much_ , may I ask?" He tilts his head to the side curiously, eyes flicking from Jamil's steady hands to his face. 

"Don't look into it too much. It's just a weird baking habit I must have picked up." Jamil shrugs.

He doesn't dare to hope his feeble attempt at throwing Azul off his case would work, but he's not willing to just give in and admit to having figured out what the catch was. Or not yet, at least, Azul always finds his way to get answers out of him, more or less kindly. He's infuriating like that but, as long as they're in a classroom together, not overly dangerous. Although the attention Jamil has become an unlucky recipient is a side effect he has yet to figure out, along with a method to get rid of it before Azul decides to inevitably cause him a great amount of trouble. 

"Even with my narrow knowledge concerning baking, I'm positive that it's not the case here," Azul hums in response, closing the distance between them in a few swift steps; the heels of his shoes tap on the ground loudly even in a noisy mess that has become of the classroom. The sound irks Jamil just as much as the rest of the fancy looks and pretentious demeanor he exudes do.

Jamil finally looks back, eyebrows creasing in irritation, only to be met with a leveled stare, piercing straight through him. For a second he feels truly glad for the safety goggles Crewel always forces on them during class assignments. 

"It's an individual work, so why don't you back off to your own desk and make an _actual_ attempt?" he spats. To no avail; Azul merely shrugs, completely unbothered by the harsh way he's being treated. 

"There's a trick to that, I could tell from the vague way Crewel gave us the instructions. His voice always pitches higher when he has something particularly unpleasant prepared for us. And from the last time he did that I've learned not to rush into anything without waiting for the first" –he gestures at the students around them– ”victims." Just as the last word has left his mouth, a loud crash comes from the back of the room; he doesn't spare a single look and neither does Jamil.

"Have you tried changing the fire?" he suggests. "Or switching the order of the ingredients, if you're so set on seeking a catch in the recipe?" 

Azul just smiles at him indulgently, patient as ever. He's usually annoyingly talkative, and much too mouthy for Jamil's liking, but the way he communicates things with his body language is even more obnoxious; he's expecting Jamil to just pick up on things as if they were familiar with each other well enough to do so. It's annoying because, in part, it's true: he, along with others, has seen into Jamil's heart's deepest, darkest parts and each reminder of that makes Jamil's skin crawl with anxious anticipation.

"You're skillful. Of course you have it figured out." Azul's voice breaks him out of his reverie. "Or am I wrong?"

"It's just blind luck," he lies automatically, the words leaving his mouth smoothly like nothing's changed at all. Except, everything has.

Azul's expression darkens at the response. "You don't have to do that anymore, remember?"

Jamil grits his teeth, not gracing him with a response. He knows, he knows _damn well_ that it's all over now, but it's not as simple as it seemed when he had been stuck chaining himself down to mediocrity. He's not one to boast about his knowledge or abilities, disclosure about the smallest of things still feels like handing the enemy a dagger on an open palm.

"Extraordinary people who put themselves down for the sake of appearing humble are a waste of potential," Azul adds after a pause. "So don't do that." 

And with that he backs away, not sparing Jamil another glance. 

"The Lilac mixture tends to gravitate towards the walls of the kettle, away from the center which is where most people tend to start stirring. It boils and burns rapidly, so if you don't want it to blow up, you have to keep a steady peace of mixing and stay close to the edges. Moving the ladle from left to right is not necessary, but makes it easier to access the bottom right part of the kettle," Jamil says, almost in one breath. 

Azul halts in his step, but doesn't turn around as he says, "You truly _are_ remarkable." 

The faint upbeat lilt in his voice is enough for Jamil to guess what kind of expression he's making. 

He's wearing the same smile when he walks into Scarabia's kitchen and leans against the door frame a few weeks later. 

"Are you stuck on kitchen duty even at a party?"

Jamil stifles a sigh that threatens to escape his lips. Great, the absolutely _last_ person he needs around right now, or _ever_ , just had to choose the exact same place and time in the least welcome moment. It must be either a special talent of his or– Jamil refuses to even acknowledge the growing possibility of the other option.

He focuses on arranging and rearranging different kinds of foods on plates and making sure everything looks appetizing enough. He doesn't need to do that, they've prepared and checked everything beforehand, so now the only necessity is to carry the trays to the main hall and switch with the already emptied ones. But the kitchen is vacant this time of the evening when everyone already went out to enjoy the upbeat music and cheerful company of the other dorms. Even during a party as big as this, it doesn't take long for the residents on kitchen duty to start slacking off and wandering off to the dancefloor and tables filled with what would be best described as a feast.

The next day they'll hear explicitly what Jamil thinks about abandoning duties when Scarabia's reputation is on the line, but right now he's glad to be left in an empty room all to himself. 

Or rather he _had been glad_ until Azul showed up and _ruined_ his moment of calm.

"As the vice dorm head it is my responsibility to make sure everything is going as planned," he says the lines in a monotone voice, learned by heart and repeated over and over again to mechanical perfection. "But there's no reason for you to be here, so _get out_ ," he adds, not without satisfaction.

Not so long ago he wouldn't find himself saying something so crude out loud, and to one of the dorm heads at that, but he doesn't have to care that much anymore, so what's stopping him? 

Azul takes a few steps in his direction. Click-clack, click-clack, muffled by the music and laughs seeping in from the corridor.

"What if I came to talk?" 

"Then you have plenty of people to talk to outside," Jamil suggests. "You know, where the _actual party_ is."

"Well, I came to talk to you, and you're hiding just right here," Azul answers kindly. 

"Where did your assumption that I'm hiding come from?"

"Aren't you?" 

"None of your business."

"I see." Azul smiles, sharp and calculated. "Then you surely won't mind if I keep you company?" He formulates it like a question, but his tone is anything but questioning. This means he has no intention of leaving, most definitely wanting something out of Jamil. It makes Jamil want to let his anger overflow and yell _what the fuck do you want from me_ , but when it comes to Azul's mind games it would be like admitting defeat before learning what the final prize is. So he keeps quiet, eyes cast downwards at the trails, hands fixing things that need not be fixed.

"I'll take that as a no," Azul hums to himself. "I don't think you have to stay here and work throughout the entire night, Jamil. Everything looks just fine and Kalim, as always, keeps everyone in high spirits, so if you wanted to, you could join us for a game or two." He pauses, waiting for a reaction. To no use, Jamil promptly ignores his proposition. "But you don't, because everyone's hesitant towards you."

"Like I care about any of that." 

"Oh, but you _do_." Azul sounds so self-satisfied with his guess it makes Jamil's blood boil. He can stop the words dancing at the tip of his tongue and the outburst pressing against his clenched teeth, but can't help the way his fingers twitch and even without looking at Azul's face knows that the minuscule motion didn't escape his attention.

"Aren't you the one who called me equally as bad as you? Or even worse?" 

And in all honesty, it's what everybody thinks these days; Azul might not have any objections to using people to his own devices, but he has managed to change his image from a tyrannical ruler to a man of business; he's no longer hated out of fear, he's respected for his strength. Jamil's label of a traitor will forever stay pinned to his back and whispered in hushed voices as he walks by. That's just how it is, and he absolutely does not give a care about that. It's just hard getting used to the sudden change of attitude towards him.

"You don't seem to really care about my opinion in particular, which honestly almost wounds me" –he sighs in an exaggerated way– "but I'm not from your dorm, so I can probably understand why." 

"Have you considered the fact that I don't care about your opinion simply because I _don't like_ you?" 

Azul chuckles quietly like it's some kind of friendly banter they're having. But they're not, because they're not friends. They're nothing to each other, really. Just classmates and lab partners who happened to see each other at their very worst. Nothing unusual at the Night Raven Collage.

"That's a shame since I'm interested in you." 

Something about the way he says it turns the air around them dense, hard to breathe in. No matter the number of times Jamil has heard different variations of it before, or the implications Azul's carefully tailored words carry, the timing makes all of it sound strange in an alarming way, building tension in Jamil's chest. 

"You should say you were interested in what kind of person I truly was," Jamil forces himself to speak. "And now you know, so you can stop with the sweet-talk."

"No, I think you failed to understand what I meant," Azul scoffs. "Now you're more interesting than ever before. The things you can do, the potential you have, and the way you act, it's all infinitely more entertaining when you're _finally_ not restraining yourself."

He reaches out and grabs Jamil's forearm, tugging it slightly to force him to turn and face each other properly. Jamil makes his final mistake here, letting himself be guided until he's staring into those unreadable, marble-like eyes. 

"That's not the most pleasant of entertainments out there," Jamil huffs and it comes out almost a joke, almost not bitter.

"Certainly." And Azul's lips form almost a smile, a barely noticeable upward quirk in the corners. "Allow me to rephrase?"

"You're just going to say something worse, aren't you?"

"Possibly." 

"So, no. Shut yourself up." 

"How great it is that I don't have to listen to you." His grip loosens and only then does Jamil realize that he hasn't let go, and that he himself hasn't thought of slapping Azul's hand away. "My point is that, _for me_ , you're quite captivating." 

His hand wanders from Jamil's forearm to his back, leaving a trail of ghosting touches, until it settles around his waist, keeping him in place. 

The grip is not firm, nor is it forceful, so breaking away from it wouldn't be a challenge of any kind. Besides, Jamil knows that when it comes to physical strength he's got the upper hand here, snapping the arm that's holding him in half would be a matter of three seconds and two well-coordinated moves. But he doesn't. He doesn't break away, nor does he break Azul's arm or the eye contact they're upholding; he just stands there, stunned motionless with eyes wide open as Azul leans in. 

His intention is clear by now and it makes Jamil want to retreat further into his hoodie, though something in the way Azul lets his eyes flutter shut makes his mind run in vicious circles around the image. 

So he waits. And waits. And waits, bracing himself for the impact that never comes as Azul stops himself in his tracks right before their lips meet. 

His breath is warm and tickles Jamil's cheek; it's surprising in a way, he's never thought that a person so thoroughly cold, all the way from his homeland in the deepest parts of the ocean to his carefully crafted icy personality, could possibly radiate so much gentle heat. But again, it's not like he knows that much about Azul anyway. The only interest he's ever kept in him was one to keep him as far as possible. Which has failed, on more than one level.

 _It's the final choice he's giving me_ , Jamil realizes, maybe a tad bit belatedly. He could lean in and see if Azul's lips taste like sea salt or if they're as soft as they look. Or, he could pull away, drawl an insult from behind his clenched teeth and let Azul laugh it off like it's some kind of childish game. But he's got a choice to make for himself, despite being held in place by someone else's hands. By someone who knows and doesn't stray away from harsh words and judgments of his twisted character, someone who doesn't ignore or pretend that nothing's happened, be it from fear or reasons Jamil can't quite comprehend. 

It's a double-edged sword though, and he wouldn't want to find out how it feels to have the blade turned on him. 

"What the hell do you think you're–" he starts in a voice weaker and more hoarse than it has any right to be, but a sudden disruption coming from the entrance drowns his next words away. 

Azul jumps away from him and takes two steps back, immediately turning towards the source of the noise. He's composed once again, not a hair in the wrong place, but a careful enough eye would notice the telltale that's the faint blush now dusting his face.

Jamil crosses his arms across his chest, suddenly feeling colder. 

"Are there any more strawberry tarts here?!" Grim's voice echoes through the kitchen as he barges in with Yuu at his heels. "Those bastards ate all of them without leaving the great me a single one. They're a disgrace!!" 

Jamil flinches with irritation and clicks his tongue. Just because Grim is too loud and unruly, of course. He should be thankful for his and Yuu's unique ability to always be in the right, or wrong, depending on the situation, place at the right time. 

"Sorry, have we interrupted something?" Yuu asks, their quiet voice filled with badly hidden suspicion tinted with worry. Jamil briefly wonders whether the nicer emotion was directed at Azul or Yuu's other friends, who, undoubtedly, would get caught up in the mess if they were to do something suspicious. Well, suspicious in the conventional sense of the word.

"Of course not, where did that come from?" Azul answers immediately, not giving Jamil a chance to even open his mouth. His tone is nonchalant and light, a complete change from how serious he's been just a few seconds before, with all his attention set on Jamil. "Come on in, I'm sure I've seen some of those tarts somewhere in here." 

"Table in the back, next to the cheese crackers," Jamil sighs. 

Grim makes a disgusted face and begins loudly complaining about something Kalim must have done after Jamil left half an hour ago. Did he try to force-feed Grim with snacks yet again? Whatever it was, he's probably better off not knowing.

Jamil tunes the noise out, deciding that he absolutely does not care about Grim's opinions on what flavors should and should not be mixed together. Instead, he grabs the nearest plate filled with snacks that, judging by the amount of meat used in the preparation, came from Savanaclaw's very own kitchen. He makes his way towards the exit without a word, intentionally not sparing a glance in neither Yuu's nor Azul's direction. 

He can feel their stares burning into his back as he leaves. It sends cold shivers crawling up his neck, but the prickling sensation under his skin is hot as if he were going down with a fever. 

"Don't mind him." He hears Azul reassure Yuu. "It's nothing personal." 

And he's almost right. It's nothing at all.

**Author's Note:**

> they're smart people who should do everyone a favor and date


End file.
